Blacked Out Blur
by anan0maly
Summary: It's another Friday night, but not like one any of them have had before. Based on Katy Perry's 'Last Friday Night'. OT3: Rachel/Santana/Quinn
1. The Morning After

**Title:** Blacked Out Blur  
><strong>Author:<strong> an_an0maly  
><strong>Summary:<strong> It's another Friday night, but not like one any of them have had before.  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Rachel/Quinn/Santana  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>9000+ (in total, so far)  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I, sadly, own nothing.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I know this has probably already been done, but I thought I'd have a crack at it anyway. Based on Katy Perry's "Last Friday Night (TGIF)".

* * *

><p><strong>1? – The Morning After**

_11:47am Saturday_

There was an incessant, rhythmic sawing noise reverberating off the walls of the small enclosed room. The sound registered in Rachel's ears. It wasn't enough to wake her, but the sound was distraction enough it caused her to snort and toss her head to the side. Her chin bumped against something soft and warm pressing into her shoulder. Her nose twitched as something tickled beneath her right nostril, but still, she did not stir. A groan from Rachel's left, which was quickly followed by a choked cough, startled Rachel awake.

Bleary eyes blinked a few times attempting to focus. On instinct, Rachel attempted to rub at her tired eyes with her right hand, but quickly found it trapped. She tiredly tried tugging her arm from its unknown confinement - once, twice – but quickly gave in when it seemed to take too much effort. She let her eyes flutter closed, her head lolling to the left and away from the tickling sensation.

A crick in Rachel's neck made itself known, causing her to whimper in pain. "Urgh…" she moaned softly in disgust, smacking her lips together, and feeling the fuzzy and disgusting coating on her tongue. Obviously she'd forgotten to brush her teeth the night before.

Suddenly, the sawing sound started up again, startling Rachel. Her left hand swiped at the object lying across her legs trying to shut it up. Her fingers brushed over a nose and a pair of lips before her hand began feeling its way to the top of her companion's head. "Sh…" Rachel tiredly soothed with a slight shake of the person's head.

"Ooow," Rachel groaned loudly as flying hands began to slap at her body. On a well-placed downward slap, fingers slipped over her nipple and Rachel gasped as she felt the sensitive skin tighten, an ache settling between her legs. Rachel's eyes snapped open at the sudden realization that the only way her nipple could react to such innocent stimulation, was through skin-on-skin contact. Sucking in a breath, Rachel glanced down and whimpered in fright.

* * *

><p><em>2:47pm Friday – 21 Hours Earlier<em>

Santana slammed her Cheerios duffle bag onto the bonnet of Quinn's car before using the front bumper to hoist herself onto the vehicle to settle in beside Quinn. "Thank _fucking_ God it's Friday," she complained rudely as she crossed her right leg over her left and glared at a passing Jewfro repeating a disgusting mantra of "Hubba Hubba", his eyebrows wriggling in what she assumed was supposed to be alluring, but only made her want to rip out her own eyes – or his.

Quinn smirked as she turned her head briefly to glance at Santana before resting her chin in her hand and staring across the parking lot. Santana's attitude was not surprising to Quinn, especially considering Brittany's absence from school that day.

"If one more of nature's rejects even _breathes_ in my direction, they're gonna find themselves in the dumpster behind _San Juan Choy Bow_ on a Saturday night," she threatened as she swung her leg out and kicked a passing student in the hip, pushing them away from the car. "Too damn close, Dunkin' Donut," she called out with a snarl as the rotund boy hurriedly waddled away. 'San Juan Choy Bow' was the one and only halfway decent Asian/Spanish eatery in Lima. Saturday night's special? Fish Head Soup.

Beside her, Quinn let out a short snort of laughter. Shifting her weight, she let out a long breath as she moved to lean back on her hands, propping herself up on the hood of her car. Her hazel eyes were trained on a few students standing in a small circle about sixty feet away. There were still too many students roaming the student parking lot, and too much distance to allow for the group's conversation to carry, but Quinn continued to watch intently.

Pulling her nail file from inside her Cheerio's top, Santana began filing her nails, glancing to her right to check on Quinn every few seconds. "Any idea where Puckerman's throwing this party tonight?" she began, holding her hand out to inspect the nails before returning it close to her face and filing her thumbnail. "I'm gettin' nothing but calories from those lame-ass wine coolers he keeps trying to shove down my throat."

Raising an eyebrow and shaking her head slowly, Quinn's gaze roamed the parking lot until she found the topic of their conversation grinding into Jessica Stevens, a sophomore Cheerio, against the side of his truck. Circulating rumors were she'd even put out for a goat, so Quinn was pretty certain Puck was in with a chance. "I'm not sure why I'm even surprised he's still using those as an _in_," she commented with a shake of her head.

Santana scoffed and pointed in Puck's direction with her nail file. "It's _Puckerman_," she stated as if that should be enough explanation of his chosen methodology. "The moron is toting a rodent on his head and he's _still_ getting laid. What the fuck is wrong with this town?" There was a brief pause before the brunette quickly added, "No offence."

Quinn shrugged a shoulder, unaffected by Santana's words, and let her eyes trail over the dwindling number of students in the parking lot. She found her earlier target easily and continued to stare. "No venue… yet," she replied, finally answering Santana's earlier question. She dropped her head and tilted it to the side as she began to contemplate an idea – not one she was ready to share with her friend yet.

Leaning forward, crossing her right arm over her left and resting them on her exposed thigh, Santana searched for the object of Quinn's attention. Smirking, she lowered her voice. "I hear the pride parade's outta town." When Quinn made no move to encourage or dissuade her, she continued. "She's hosting tonight's Renaissance club Flat Cap meeting." Santana scoffed in disgust. "She couldn't get any lamer if she tried."

Narrowing her eyes, Quinn accepted that it was only inevitable Santana's and her own train of thought would verge on the same path. A cell phone suddenly appeared in her line of sight, obscuring her view of the short brunette gesturing wildly to her seemingly bored companions.

"You know you wanna," Santana teased in a low tone as her hand waved the small electronic device in front of Quinn's face. Quinn's fingers wrapped around Santana's wrist and pulled her hand down. "Come on, Q," Santana tried again. "Don't get all holier than thou on me, now. _Sin_ with me," she added, her voice dropping into her lower registry as her lips brushed against the outer shell of Quinn's ear.

Rolling her eyes, but feeling her heated skin tingle where Santana's lips and breath had brushed against her, Quinn let go of the thin, tanned wrist. She glanced over at Rachel Berry and smirked. "Don't forget to put it up on Facebook."


	2. Fair Maiden Mine

**2/? – Fair Maiden Mine**

_11:53am Saturday_

Trying valiantly to breathe through her nose, while desperately hoping not to make too much noise as to wake her two companions, Rachel's eyes shifted around the small room. She tried to assess the situation through the throbbing pain behind her eyes and the churning of her stomach. Looking up, she squinted as caught sight of the ends of hanging clothes: skirts, tops, sweater vests, a pant-suit.

_Oh_.

She could, at the very least, count herself lucky. At least she was inside her _own_ closet and not someone else's. Rachel mentally congratulated herself for not panicking on waking up in a foreign location. Taking a small breath, her brow furrowed in confusion as she slowly looked from her left to her right. Making sure not to make too many sudden movements, Rachel determinedly searched the floor of her closet for her shoes. They were always perfectly lined up at the base of her closet, but if _she_ was at the base of the closet, then where were her shoes?

The body on Rachel's left shifted and rolled onto its side, right arm flinging up and over her sleeping head to rest across Rachel's legs. An elbow now dug into Rachel's stomach. Holding her breath and willing her body not to move, Rachel waited anxiously for either of her companions to wake.

Thirty seconds ticked by before Rachel slowly let her held breath leave her lungs. Ticking off a mental 'to-do' list, Rachel calmed her beating heart, slowed her breathing, and reminded herself of her current location. Now all that was left was to figure out what to do about her hand wedged between Quinn Fabray's bare legs, and Santana Lopez's head buried in her equally naked lap.

* * *

><p><em>8:53pm Friday – 15 Hours Earlier<em>

Rachel was thankful the Flat Cap meeting had only run over time by fifteen minutes. Her dads may have agreed to her hosting this month's meeting, but were adamant that visitors and friends were to vacate the premises well before 9pm. Picking up the last bowl of fried gourd – Rachel always insisted their meetings be authentic in dress _and_ snack food – she carefully carried it to the kitchen, where a take-out container was ready to be filled with the left overs.

Glancing at the clock hanging above the microwave, Rachel smiled and mentally patted herself on the back. She'd managed to clean up the lounge room, put away the food and wipe down the kitchen all before her father's scheduled text. She did a little hop and a skip in her navy blue dress as she reached for her vibrating phone on the kitchen counter top. Quickly replying to her fathers' text, she excitedly made her toward the front stairs, ready to change into her pajamas and settle in for the rest of the evening.

Rachel had just placed her foot on the first step when the sound of the doorbell buzzing three times in quick succession halted her ascent. Rachel curiously pressed herself up against the front door and peeked through the peep hole. Frowning, she spied Noah Puckerman and Mike Chang shuffling their feet on her doorstep. Swinging the door open, Rachel opened her mouth ready to question the boys' impromptu visit when she was suddenly pushed aside by a rolling silver keg of beer.

"Noah Puckerman!" Rachel screeched as she stamped her foot and began to swing her front door closed.

"Yo! Thanks for the location, Rach!" Puck called back with a wave over his head as Mike shouldered the door gently to stop Rachel from closing it on him. He quickly made his way through the entrance carrying a box of cables and a couple of iPods. "Thanks, Rach," Mike offered her with a grin. "Your stereo through here?" He asked as he tilted his head toward the lounge room.

Confused by their intrusion, Rachel stood stunned and nodded her head at Mike while trying to gather her wits about her. She wasn't sure what to yell at Puck about first: rolling the keg over her pristine carpet, his sudden uninvited intrusion or the fact he'd seen fit to greet her with a 'yo'. "What are you two even - " she managed to get out, swinging the door closed again before it was shoved open and she had to quickly jump back before being hit in the face by the swinging door.

"Can it, Berry," Santana snapped as she glanced around the Berry's home. She let her eyes rake over Rachel's body and her nose scrunched up in obvious disgust. "What the hell are you even wearing?"

Rachel swallowed a lump in her throat and glanced down at her dress. Determined not to let Santana get the better of her in her own home, she crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her chin up at Santana. "I implore you to leave my dwelling this instant!" Rachel demanded, pointing at her open front door, barely taking note of the dozen or so people slipping into her house behind Santana, some of them fellow members of the glee club.

"Are you dressed… as a wench?" Quinn's voice suddenly asked from beside Rachel's shoulder causing the shorter brunette to take a step back in fright at Quinn's sudden appearance. Confused hazel eyes roamed over her body, and Rachel couldn't stop her hands from smoothing down the front of her dress, tugging gently on the material. "I'm a Fair Maiden," she replied with a tad uncertainty in her tone.

A snort and short peal of laughter escaped Santana before she pushed Rachel aside and began heading up the stairs. "Come on Virgin Mary, let's slut you up," she called out and she waved her hand over her shoulder, signalling for Rachel to follow behind her.

Rachel turned away from the stairs and opened her mouth to protest, but Quinn's hand on the banister, her looming presence and raised eyebrow caused Rachel to stumble backwards, almost tripping on the bottom step. She quickly gathered the bottom of her skirt and petticoat and trudged begrudgingly up the stairs, the heat of Quinn's body following closely behind.


	3. I Don't Swim In Your Toilet

**A/U: Sorry for the lateness. I'm in the middle of moving house and starting a new job. I will get to all reviews from the last part soon. And a HUGE thank you to everyone that has read and reviews and clicked the story alert button. :) Nikki**

**3/? – I Don't Swim in Your Toilet…**

_12:12pm Saturday_

Rachel wasn't sure how much time had passed, but she was tired of waiting around and she really wanted back the use of her right hand. Rachel wasn't too keen on waking Santana or Quinn either, but her buttocks was numb and her carpet scratchy. Biting her bottom lip, Rachel tried to slide her left hand between her thigh and Santana's head in the hopes of sliding out from underneath the girl.

Santana seemed to have sensed Rachel's motives, because just as Rachel's fingers caressed the back of the sleeping girl's neck, Santana moaned and arched her back before rolling over until she was facing away from the brunette. Rachel froze, unable to avert her eyes as they roamed down Santana's spine to the dip at the small of her back and over Santana's backside. She swallowed past the lump in her throat when she realized Santana Lopez had no tan lines. Involuntarily, her thighs began to rub together in attempt to relieve the slowly building ache.

A fist punched her in the thigh and Rachel yelped as she flinched, causing a chain reaction. Santana suddenly sat upright, her arms swinging left and right to ward off any danger. Her knuckles connected with Rachel's shoulder causing the small brunette to cry out in pain and attempt to curl in on herself for protection. On her right, Quinn moaned into Rachel's breast and rocked her hips as Rachel attempted to remove her hand again. Quinn might not be a Cheerio anymore, but her thighs were still as strong as ever.

There was a beat of silence and all three occupants suddenly stilled. Santana was the first to break the silence, realizing there was no immediate threat, and brought her fingers to her temples, rubbing circles into her tender skin. Rachel took the presented opportunity and tried to make her escape. Lurching forward, Rachel scrambled on her hands and knees toward her closet doors, only partially aware of her naked butt swaying behind her with every forward crawl. She pushed her way through the double doors, squeezing her fingers through the slats to help pull herself up off the ground. She brushed her hair out of her face and glanced around her room. Her fingers stilled between the long strands of her hair and she let out a squeal. She hurriedly ran back into her closet, slamming the doors behind her.

Breathing heavily, Rachel leant back against the closed doors. She glanced over her shoulder, trying to see between two of the slats in the door, but the angle wasn't right. Dropping her head back against the closet doors, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping the intake of oxygen would help to clear her mind and return it to its regular functional use.

There was some shuffling below, close to Rachel's feet and she curled her toes in the carpet, temporarily forgetting her state of undress. This really wasn't how she'd planned to spend her parent-free Saturday.

"What the fuck happened last night?" A groggy, tired voice asked from the floor on Rachel's right where Santana sat, rubbing at her eyes and sliding her fingers through her ruffled hair.

"Not again," Quinn suddenly whined from the left. Rachel finally looked down and blushed as she watched Quinn try and manoeuvre herself into a seated position against the back wall. Her knees were bent as she planted her feet into the floor and rested her head in her hands. Rachel couldn't stop her curiosity as her eyes travelled below Quinn's chin and to the shadowed area between Quinn's legs. "Someone please tell me wine coolers weren't involved," the blonde added as she tilted her head back and covered her face with her hands.

Rachel cleared her throat, her gaze shifting to neutral territory – her hanging clothes. She ignored both of their questions to ask one of her own. "Would anyone like to clue me in as to the identity of the person currently residing in my bed?"

* * *

><p><em>10:12pm Friday – 14 Hours Earlier<em>

A red solo cup filled almost to the brim with a nameless alcoholic concoction was forced into Rachel's hand. "It's your party. You're required to drink," Quinn had said, her right eyebrow slowly rising in a challenge. With a grimace, Rachel stared down into the cup, thankful that it wasn't purple and after a quick sniff, was equally grateful it didn't smell like cough syrup. There was no need to revisit the _Tik Tok_ fiasco of last year. She took a quick sip under the blonde's watchful stare and nodded her head in acceptance of the fruity flavor.

When Quinn looked away, Rachel took the opportunity to bring the cup back up to her lips and slowly let the mouthful she had taken, dribble back into the cup, all the while hoping it looked as though she were taking a second sip. Rachel Berry had no intention of getting drunk this evening.

"Drink up, bitches!" Santana called out as she tapped her cup against Rachel's causing the alcohol to swish over the side and onto her living room carpet. "Oops!" Santana called out with an unapologetic grin before tapping her cup against Quinn's, the pair sharing a smirk before Santana sashayed past a group of chattering teens and into Rachel's kitchen.

Rachel slightly shuffled her feet every few minutes, hoping that Quinn wouldn't notice she was moving to hide behind the blonde. The clothes Quinn and Santana had chosen for her were rather revealing, and although she wasn't exactly a stranger to short skirts or transparent tops, tonight she wasn't feeling all that comfortable in the scrap of material wrapped around her waist or the black lace bra under her sheer sleeveless top. She didn't even _know _she owned these clothes. Santana had tried to bully her into ridding herself of her bra, but she'd vehemently refused, and Rachel had no idea what Quinn had whispered into Santana's ear, but it had saved her from partial nudity, so she wasn't going to complain.

"Beer bongs in the kitchen!" Some guy Rachel had never seen before called out as he ran through the house. Both hands were raised above his head, one fist punching the air, while the other cradled a funnel with plastic tubing attached to it. There were a few cheers and the boy was slapped on the back as he led a path into the kitchen, a dozen partiers following close behind.

"My parents are going to kill me!" Rachel began to fret. She watched as the group filed out into her backyard on the deck and began lining up on their knees in front of the beer bong. "I'm going to be grounded until I'm thirty. I won't be allowed to go to college. I'll never be scouted or snapped up while singing karaoke in a hole-in-the-wall, yet classy, bar in New York late one night and land myself a leading role on Broadway. I'll be stuck here forever!"

Quinn snorted as she listened to Rachel's rant. "You could take Mr. Schue's job," she offered before taking a sip of her drink, her eyes keeping close watch on those party goers still inside.

Rachel's jaw dropped. "I'm going to be a lonely old spinster wearing sweater vests and pining away for the guidance counsellor," she concluded, a sob ready to pour out of her. Suddenly, she gripped Quinn's arm, her nails digging into the fair skin. She yanked on Quinn's arm, forcing the blonde to lean down, Rachel's lips brushing against her ear. "I'm going to have to get a perm!" she whined before letting her forehead rest against the blonde's shoulder in despair.

Quinn reached across with her free left hand and pet Rachel's cheek twice. "There, there," she consoled dryly.

"POOL PARTY!" Rick Nelson called out. He began beating his chest and shaking his head as he began to roar, his ginger mullet growing wilder with every shake of his head. He whipped off his hockey jersey and led a charge of people through to the back of the house, a few of them tripping over the line of people waiting for their turn to wrap their lips around the end of the beer bong.

"No! Not the pool!" Rachel yelled out, shoving her drink into Quinn's hand. Her fingers on both hands gripped the short edges of her skirt as tried to pull it down, all the while scurrying through the house and toward her backyard. "My fathers have the chlorine to water ratio perfectly - " her words were cut off as three hockey players bombed their way into the pool, water spraying party goers on the other side of the fence. "Balanced," Rachel finished saying in a whisper. She took a few deep breaths as her eyes took in the scene around her. There was someone urinating against her daddy's rose bush, a couple were dry humping against the pool fence and a clearly rather intoxicated Finn was trying to ride her barbecue like a bull. Rachel hadn't even noticed when her ex-boyfriend arrived.

Turning around slowly to face the back of her house, Rachel hoped the scene would include less vandalism by bodily fluids and perhaps even less people. She was sorely, yet not surprisingly, mistaken. Anita "the penis eater" was currently using the recently cleaned kitchen island to lay topless on, while a few of the football players attempted to consume body shots from between her breasts. To the left of that spectacle, and an image Rachel was sure she wouldn't be rid of any time soon, was the basketball team using her dining table for a game of strip beer pong. Just beyond them, Rachel could make out the figures of Tina and Mercedes haphazardly pulling Artie out of his wheelchair and dumping him on the couch to fight over who got to have the first turn on his wheels.

Rachel feared she was going deaf when the noise of the party started to fade away and all that was left was her labored breathing. There was nothing she could do. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She _could_ call the police, but then her parents would be contacted. She _could_ attempt to end the party herself, but just from the sheer number of attendees, she wasn't sure stamping her foot and crossing her arms would do much to get them off her property. Her only saving grace was that her parents weren't due to return until Sunday afternoon.

Catching movement from her right, she watched as Quinn carefully tracked a path between people, heading in Rachel's direction. As her hearing gradually returned, she felt a body press into her back. With a glance over her shoulder, she recognized a smirking Santana. Turning back, she waited for Quinn to reach them. "I don't want to be coherent for this," she said, grabbing her cup from Quinn's outstretched hand and bringing it to her lips.


	4. So Don't Pee In Our Pool

**AN: It's been a pretty stressful year, so I'm sorry this has been so delayed (by like a year).**

**4/? – So Don't Pee In Our Pool**

_12:44pm Saturday_

The trio stood at the end of Rachel's bed staring at its sole sleeping occupant. It had taken them only seconds to start dragging items of clothing off Rachel's hangers and tiredly trying to dress themselves. There'd been some elbowing and a completely accidental groping of Santana's breast on Rachel's part, but they'd managed to look halfway decent as they stumbled out of the closet one by one to investigate the aftermath of the party.

"I need to steam clean that mattress," Rachel mumbled as she crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot against her carpet. Seconds ticked by as they each waited for the other to make a move. Rachel began wriggling, trying to reposition her short shorts, but was having no luck. She'd refused to venture outside in a skirt and no underwear and had fortunately found a pair of shorts she'd been keeping from the ninth grade on the shelf above them. They were, admittedly, a little snug, but Rachel was glad they were cotton and not denim. She'd once spent an hour skimming articles regarding the discomfort the harder material could provide when rubbed against such sensitive areas after she'd heard a rumor Santana was commando under a pair of skinny jeans. The seam line between her legs was creating a more _subtle _pressure - not at all unpleasant.

"And you might want to burn the sheets," Quinn added, effectively pulling Rachel out of her thoughts. Rachel turned to her left to give Quinn her attention. The blonde had insisted that if she were to attempt to dress in Rachel's clothes, both the length of tops and skirts would be inappropriate and she was still a good Christian girl - at least on Sundays and the occasional Saturday brunch. Quinn, in the end, had chosen to commandeer one of Rachel's dresses. The length was somewhat modest and the effects of the alcohol were just enough that the red, yellow, white and green diagonal stripes didn't make her want to rip off the offensive garment and sacrifice it in a fire – the expiration date on those urges were still yet to be determined. Quinn brought her right hand up to her mouth to cover a yawn. She took the time to shrug a shoulder and wince over at Rachel when she spotted the brunette staring at her.

"Do you think… they're okay?" Rachel asked with a touch of concern, ignoring the fluttering in her stomach as she looked away from the sleepy sight of Quinn Fabray in one of her favorite outfits.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said, dismissing Rachel's worries. Santana had no such concerns about the lack of undergarments or the length of Rachel's clothes on her body when it had come to stealing the brunette's clothes. Currently, the garish pink bow on the front of Rachel's navy top was stretched tightly across Santana's unsupported breasts and the purple plaid skirt she'd chosen was riding high on her hips in imitation of her beloved Cheerios skirt. _Nothing_ was left to the imagination.

Ignoring Rachel, Santana grabbed the nearest poking object she could find: a gold glitter-filled wand. "Only one way to check," she said before stepping forward and poking the slumbering lump of a body. When the person didn't move, Santana tried again, this time jabbing them harder with the wand, emitting a groan with the effort. "Hey, _freak_!" She yelled, before quickly bringing her hands to her pounding head. "Oh, _God_," she moaned, mentally chastising herself for yelling just as the person on the bed began to stir.

"Hey!" A jovial voice greeted from the bed. "It's Satan!" He acknowledged with a grin as his fingers speared through the disarrayed mop of dark hair on his head and a ring of stars was revealed on his bicep. Rachel cringed as she watched his hand drop to his naked chest and scratch at it absent-mindedly. Quinn was right. She would need to burn her sheets.

"What did you call me?" Santana asked taking a step forward. Her voice was low and her fingers retreated from her temples to wield the wand as though it were a baseball bat. She slammed the makeshift weapon down onto the bed.

"Woah!" The suddenly alert bed warmer tried to placate her, his hands now held out in front of him in an attempt to ward off any further attacks. As Santana took a threatening step closer, he scrambled to try and escape the confines of Rachel's pink sheets. He quickly found himself on the floor untangling his legs from the bed covers, while attempting to yank up his 'pull my trunk and watch me blow' elephant boxer shorts. When he finally managed to stand back up, he held his shirt in one hand and a sock in the other. Finally spotting the other two figures at the end of the bed, he grinned and assumed the danger was over. "Hey! Mary!" He greeted gesturing first to Rachel, "and… Mary!" he added in Quinn's direction with a little confusion.

"Excuse me?" Quinn asked, her arms folded across her chest and a glare directed at the stranger in Rachel's bed. The aforementioned brunette was gripping Quinn's right arm and burying her face almost in the blonde's armpit. Quinn could feel the flutter of Rachel's eyelashes with every shake of the brunette's head against her.

"You know… The virgin," he began, waving his sock in Rachel's direction. His hand moved to point at Quinn. "And the slut," he concluded, shooting the pair an odd look, wondering why they were so offended.

"I'll have you know, she's _not_ a slut. She slept with _one_ boy!" Rachel defended suddenly stepping in front of Quinn and holding her arm out in front of the blonde to protect her from the horrible lies this intruder was spouting. She glanced over her shoulder at Quinn. "_One_ boy, right?" She whispered, turning to face the stranger before waiting for Quinn's confirmation. She huffed and stomped her foot when he didn't retract or even _apologize_ for what he'd said. She did, however, narrow her eyes at him when he held his hands up in surrender once again.

Behind her, Quinn cleared her throat and leaned toward the short brunette. "Um, Rach?" She began in a soft, tentative voice. "We woke up naked," she gently reminded her.

Rachel's eyes widened and she whipped around as the implications of their morning state of dress finally hit her. She quickly turned her head to the right to look at Santana who was smirking and giving her a once over. Blushing and taking a deep breath, she turned back to Quinn who was sporting a half-smile and seemed unconcerned about the very likely Sapphic tryst they'd had the evening before.

"You got laid? That's awesome!" The boy interjected jovially. "You're not a virgin anymore!" He exclaimed, stepping forward and dropping his shirt to hold his open palm up high in the air above her head. "Up top, dude!"

Rachel scoffed in indignation, offended he'd called her 'dude'. "My _name_ – "

"I'm gonna rip your trunk off and shove it down your throat if you don't get your skinny, white ass out of this house!" Santana threatened, the wand in her left hand now pointing at the open bedroom door. The boy, whose name they'd yet to discover, grabbed up the closest remaining articles of clothing he could find, fist-bumped a stunned Rachel and hurried out the bedroom door. The girls waited with baited breath until they heard the slam of the front door.

"Who the _fuck_ was that?"

* * *

><p><em>10:44pm Saturday – Just Over 13 Hours Earlier<em>

"I'm bringing sexy back," Rachel sang loudly, her right hand holding her half-empty cup of alcohol above her head as she tried to re-enact Sam's patented body roll. "Them mother fuckers don't know how to act." Rachel threw her head back and continued to roll her hips. "Quinnie!" She suddenly called out, distracted by a flash of blonde hair rushing past from the corner of her eye.

Quinn grabbed onto the wall to steady herself before turning to look in Rachel's direction. The girl was dancing. At least, that's what Quinn thought she was doing. But Rachel was in the toilet, with the door wide open, so Quinn wasn't entirely sure. She braced her hands on the wall as she dodged a few people on her way toward the bathroom. "You bellowed?" Quinn asked as she leaned against the doorframe. She wasn't completely drunk, but she knew she was well on her way to getting there.

"Baby, I'm your slave," Rachel sang as she reached out and grabbed Quinn's wrist and pulled hard. Quinn stumbled into the bathroom, falling into Rachel and pressing her up against the sink. Her hands greedily grabbed at the porcelain basin, preventing any potential falls.

"I'll let you whip me if I misbehave," Rachel sang in Quinn's ear as she wrapped her arms around the blonde's neck and pulled her close. It was clear that the near body check Quinn had just performed had no effect on Rachel. Nor had it even registered to the brunette that she was singing Justin Timberlake while the rest of the party was listening to Taio Cruz sing about drinking too much and having a hangover.

"You're in the bathroom," Quinn stated the obvious, stepping back from Rachel, but keeping her hand firmly braced on the edge of the sink to stop her from swaying.

"Pee with me!" Rachel suddenly announced with a gasp. "I've always wanted a peeing partner." She began squirming; eyeing the porcelain bowl with what Quinn thought looked like lust.

Quinn didn't even question Rachel's request. She turned and attempted to reach behind her to close the door, but a rough shove and a shout of "no private rug-munching parties without me", found Quinn pressed painfully up against the sink, Rachel straddling the toilet and Santana's ass pressing into her hip, bending over doing God knows what to the lock. And then suddenly the room went dark.


End file.
